


Of cats and cabbages

by OrphielBurrito



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fake Relationship, Fluff, Gay Disaster Albus Dumbledore, Indian Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 21:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15782889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphielBurrito/pseuds/OrphielBurrito
Summary: Minerva McGonagall does not trust Albus Dumbledore. At least, not when it comes to his latest idea: leaving Harry Potter with his white suburban Muggle family, the Dursleys. She decides to take it upon herself to protect the child by making herself the Dursley's neighbour - with the help of her best friend and long-term crush, Pomona Sprout.





	1. Arithmancy of Perfection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ideduceyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideduceyou/gifts).



> Inspired by this infamous tumblr post: http://uncontinuous.tumblr.com/post/175342215210/au-where-minerva-mcgonagall-has-a-little-less

Minerva MacGonagall was, at this point, getting used to Albus making foolish and rash decisions, especially when another man was involved. That said, the fact that the men involved in this story were either children or presumably dead dark mages didn’t play in his favour. At all.

Arguing with the director about his ridiculous idea to let baby Potter live with his aunt and uncle had proven useless. He assured her, time and time again, that everything would be _fine,_ that she had no reason to worry at all, that they would treat their nephew well, that they would be happy to have a hero living under their roof. Knowing more about Muggles than she cared to, Minerva couldn’t help but being skeptical. The wizarding world wasn’t exactly perfect when it came to equality and discrimination, of course, but Muggles had this dreadful fear of the unknown that made them react in the most unpredictable way to wizards.

Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps the Dursleys would be good for little Potter. It would certainly be easier for a child to grow up away from the world that adored him – and away from those who sought revenge. But Minerva couldn’t help herself. She never had children of her own, for an incredible variety of reasons that were nobody’s but hers, but she had always cared a great deal for every single kid who crossed her path. Becoming a teacher had been obvious to her from the very moment she grasped a certain understanding of the world. If her lectures and presence could make only one child feel less alone, more capable, more confident, then it would all have been worth it.

So, when Dumbledore left Privet Drive feeling quite content with his latest bout of what he’d certainly call genius, Minerva set out to protect Potter. What from, she didn’t quite know yet – but she figured there would be work to do.

 

Of course, it would have been unwise to do it on her own. Muggles were suspicious of single women and tended to label them “witches” faster than light. For obvious reasons, Minerva couldn’t possibly have that. Plus, she wagered that another pair of eyes wouldn’t be too much to watch over the child if he was anything like his father; and what he had already inherited from him would be a problem in the years to come. If Minerva  hadn’t lived in Muggle society for quite a few years , she still knew very well how it treated those whose skin colour wasn’t as fair as theirs. And if little Harry had his mother’s green eyes, he also had the rich brown skin of his Indian father.

When the time came to get someone else in on her little trick, she didn’t hesitate. There was but one person in the universe that she would trust with such a task  _and_ be capable of living with for a solid decade, until Harry Potter would be old enough to attend Hogwarts. 

She had met Pomona Sprout when they were both in school. Since then, they had barely ever been apart, spending the school year together at Hogwarts and some of their holidays vacationing somewhere pleasant. That, of course, had gotten a bit more difficult with the rise of Voldemort and the war that had destroyed much of the wizarding world. Summers were spent fighting Deatheaters rather than living on an enchanted farm in Iceland. 

That was the perfect occasion to get her friend back.

 

“Pomona, my dear,” stated Minerva in a somewhat nonplussed voice, “didn’t we say that we were limiting the number of plants?”

The living room of the little house next to the Dursley’s looked much like a greenhouse, at this point. Somehow, despite the presence of a small cosy couch, a bookcase, and a table with four chairs, Pomona had managed to fill the entire space with plants. Crawling ivy on the table,  ficus trees and philodendrons and palm trees everywhere on the floor, orchids hanging from the ceiling, bushes of flowers and aromatic herbs on every windowsill, and many others had been skillfully placed everywhere around the room. With the bright white walls and the clear floorboards, it did make their lounge room quite pleasant and full of light, but Minerva was still not sure about any of this. Especially since Pomona was carrying yet another flower pot to its destination.

“I _am_ limiting,” protested the Herbologist. “Trust me, this will be just the right number of plants. There!” She put her hands on her generous hips and smiled brightly at the latest addition. “That’s the last one, I think. For now, at least.

\- Are you planning on… more plants?

\- Well, you never know what might happen, hm?”

Minerva rolled her eyes and held back a smile. That much was true: with Pomona, no one could ever know, especially when it came to plants.

She arranged the fluffy cushions on the couch to give them more volume, tidied the books for the millionth time in the bookcase, dusted the table and the chairs. Her bare feet on the thick emerald green carpet felt surprisingly comfortable. She hadn’t had a home in years. A house, of course. A roof over her head, walls around her, that had never been a problem. Money had never been the problem. But there had always been constraints that kept her from making any place a true home, and not just a dormitory. She had high expectations for this plan and this house, much like she did with most things. This would be her  _home,_ and it would be  _perfect,_ and if – when, probably – they needed to rescue baby Potter from his family, they would offer him a perfect safe haven.

Minerva discretely waved her wand to adjust the level of brightness of the overhead lamp, before deciding against its entire existence and turning it into fairy lights that ran all across the living room. She smiled for herself, glancing at Pomona who was cherishing her plants.

This, she thought, would be perfect.


	2. Muggle studies: a Garden Party

Minerva’s plan of moving in with Pomona next to the Dursleys had had an involuntary side effect. 

During her years in the wizarding world, mostly away from the Muggle side of her family, she had somewhat forgotten how narrow-minded this world could be. Whilst wizards would never bat an eye at someone’s choice of partners (nobody bothered to tell Albus about how Gellert was  _not_ in  _any way_ a healthy choice, for example), the inhabitants of Little Whinging, Surrey, certainly had a lot to say about two women living together as wives.  More than they had to say about a biracial orphan appearing at the Dursleys, anyway.

It never occurred to either of the witches that pretending to be sisters or simply friends would do the trick. They had thought that in such a traditional neighbourhood, faking a marriage would help them gain everyone’s trust – imagine the scandal! Two unmarried women sharing a house! Or something of the sort. 

Boy, had they been wrong.

The first neighbours to visit were Dr and Mrs George Preston, a lovely couple in their fifties, who lived alone with their tiny barking dog and their gigantic ego. Their children, as they explained dutifully, were already gone from the house and their eldest, wonderful Mary, was getting married in March, to a respectable young lawyer from Essex. Really, it was  _wonderful,_ how  _charming_ to have such  _interesting_ new neighbours, it was  _imperative_ that they came over for tea someday. As they were drowning poor Pomona and Minerva in their nonsense, they weaseled their way in the house, looking everywhere for signs of the indecency and squalor that they expected from a couple of married women. 

“Did they seem outrageously disappointed to you?” asked Pomona, picking crumbs from the plate of scones that the Prestons had brought. 

“Disappointed and flabbergasted, yes. I should have thought of that. Muggles have such bizarre views of relationships… But well, at least _we_ are the neighbourhood’s new curiosity and not little Harry.” 

The Dursleys, of course, never came. What would people think? That they could – the idea itself made their skin crawl – endorse such a repugnant lifestyle? No, certainly not. But the witches had a plan.

 

 

“How lovely,” said Mrs Preston for the sixth time in ten minutes. “How _positively_ lovely.” 

For the occasion, she had decided to wear her good days dress, a blue frilly thing that made her look even more skeletal and yellow than usual. Her husband was manning the grill with the help of Mr Channing, a retired accountant living down the road, and she was sipping a glass of champagne under the shadow of a massive oak tree. Everyone on Privet Drive would have sworn to have never seen that tree before and yet that it had always been here. As British people often do with things that they can’t quite explain, they all ignored it. 

“It certainly is,” replied Minerva in the most amiable tone she could conjure – which was not much of a success. “I was rather hoping that our neighbours, the Dursleys, would come and visit… We invited them but heard nothing back.

\- Oh, dear Minnie,” replied Mrs Preston with a familiarity that made Minerva shiver in disgust, “you mustn’t be too hard on them. Poor Petunia has two babies to take care of! Two! And one of them is...” She lowered her voice, looked around, as if to speak of something entirely too crude for such a pleasant gathering, “well, you’ve heard about the  _orphan,_ I presume. Brown little thing – I heard he’s from Petunia’s sister. Is that true?”

Immediately, Minerva’s alertness increased and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if the question was asked in all good faith or if something more unpleasant hid behind it. Despite Voldemort’s demise, Death Eaters were still roaming free in large numbers, and would be until the Ministry of Magic did its goddamn job properly for  _once._

“How should I know, my dear, I have never met the Dursleys nor their extended family,” smiled Minerva. Perhaps her coming to Privet Drive was not such a good idea, after all. Perhaps it had drawn all kinds of unwanted attention from the magical parts of the world. But Minerva McGonagall had never been one for false modesty and she knew without question that she would be able to protect that child – if only because she had Pomona with her.

She excused herself from Mrs Preston’s company and found shelter near her pretend wife, who was rather enjoying her guests’ appraisal of the herb butter she had prepared with her own garden herbs. They had never had anything like it, or so they said. Looking at Pomona’s smirk, Minerva wasn’t too surprised about that.

“We said no magic herbs,” she whispered at her friend. 

“It’s parsley. Parsley’s not magic.” Pomona shrugged and took a bite off her toast. “I’m just pleased with my work. Let me have that, will you?”

Minerva sighed, defeated. Parsley. 

Oh well. She had to admit one thing: everything Pomona touched was always infused with some sort of magic.


End file.
